Peace to thee, father! thou hast gone
To that blest shore;—
Thy last great battle's fought and won;
Thy conflict's o'er.

As dew-drops from the clouds above
On earth distill'd,
Thy melting words, like floods of love,
Our hearts have fill'd.

The helpless in thee found relief;
And the distress'd
Of every kind, though torn by grief,
Pronounce thee bless'd!

Thou lab'redst hard to teach thy race
A Saviour's love,
And point them to that better place
In heav'n above.

A murky light thou didst not give,
But brilliant, clear!
Thy deeds of piety shall live
Full many a year.

Not like a transient meteor, thou,
But a bright star,
Whose glorious light is seen e'en now,
Both near and far.

Loud sang the angels to God's praise
In chorus high,
When thou hadst crowned thy lengthen'd days
In victory!

Waiting around thy couch they stood
To guide thee o'er
The surging waves of death's cold flood,
To Canaan's shore.

Then rest thee, father, till that day
When saints shall rise,
And burst the bands of mortal clay,
To mount the skies.

Thou shalt then rewarded be, and
Thy robe so bright,
Outshine the sun throughout that land
Of love and light.

Then in thy crown shall many stars
To thee be given;
And all thy tears, and wounds, and scars,
Be heal'd in heaven.